Everything Was Sound
by Grompit
Summary: In the end, all the things he had done, both great and terrible, were for nothing. It wouldn't bring back his family. In a Commonwealth without a boogeyman, it's hard for Nate Jones to visualize his place in it's future. When his bid at retirement places him at odds with a new enemy, Nate finds himself fighting another war. M!SS, canonical violence and language.
1. The End of an Era

" _And I asked myself: What's the weight of my life on the scales of eternity?_ "

-Garrett Russel

The fighting was winding down as the Minutemen forces hurried to evacuate the Institute. Nate rushed down the hallway, Preston and Sturges on his heels as he spilled the blood of both synth and human indiscriminately. He stopped at the mouth of the molecular relay chamber as Preston and Sturges passed him.

The room had seen the first part of the fighting, blood marring the bleached white of Institute design as corpses littered the room like the broken toys of a very large child. He gritted his teeth at the sight.

More blood on his hands.

He looked back down the hallway. He turned and started back down the hall.

"General!" Preston called after him. "Where are you going?"

"I need to go back for something," he offered.

He navigated his way back through the hallways, past the dead and dying. He passed synths, scientists, and minutemen in equal measure.

All dead because of him.

He gritted his teeth as he entered the main atrium. Corpses littered the ground as thick as leaves in the fall. The once well cultivated grass was churned up, slick with blood. The few trees that were planted had been shredded by laser-fire. The fountain in the center turned a murky red, a few bodies floating like macabre flotsam.

The crimson on white reminded him of Anchorage. How the snow ran red with blood in some places. The fighting had moved to the connecting departments, or at least he assumed it had.

The alarm from the evacuation protocol deafened him as he made his way towards the stairs. He took them two at a time, his boots squelching against the smooth plastic. He ignored the blank, accusing stare of Alan Binet as he reached the top of the stairs.

War was hell.

He stood outside of his destination, as if something prevented him from going in. He looked at the pale door.

He couldn't just leave him.

He had destroyed this place for his son, after all. How could he simply leave his son? His hand shook as he pressed the button. The door opened without a sound, and Nate entered.

"What? Have you come back to gloat?" a hoarse voice greeted him.

His son laid in a bed. His cheeks gaunt and skin the sickly rubber look. The wrinkles were more pronounced. "No," Nate answered. "I'm not- I'm not leaving you, Shaun."

His armor felt uncomfortably tight around the chest as he moved towards his son. "Let me die along with everything I've created," the older man protested. Nate ignored the sting and slung his rifle.

"We got out as many as we could."

His hands slid under the older man, lifting him up. He ignored how light his son was, how he could feel his ribs through the blanket. Nate turned, and began retracing his steps a third time. The maze-like hallways that thread through the Institute like veins were clogged with the aftermath of firefights. Nate could feel the leather of his combat boots soak through.

"Why?" Shaun croaked out as they rounded another corner.

Nate creased his eyebrows. Why indeed. He hardly knew the man his son had become, who was the antithesis of everything Nate believed in. He had missed his first word, his first steps. He'd missed all the firsts. He'd spent a grand total of three months with his son. Getting down to the heart of the matter, his son was a stranger.

Why indeed.

"Because, you're my son, Shaun," he whispered to the old man. It seemed to pacify him, as Shaun adjusted his head to a more comfortable angle.

They reached the relay. Preston and Sturges were gone, probably back to the Castle with the bulk of their forces, or where ever else they might go. Nate shifted Shaun's weight to his left arm, ignoring how easy it was to carry him like that. He grit his teeth against how thin his son was.

He put in the coordinates and stepped into the Relay. The machine snapped, and blue light engulfed his vision. He remembered the first time he had experienced the molecular relay. The none too pleasant feeling of being torn apart and reassembled.

He blinked stars out of his eyes, stumbling as the relay spat him out. The cold hit him like a jolt of caffeine.

Vault 111.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had gotten the coordinates right. He slowly sat down, Shaun still in his arms. He looked up at the metal sarcophagus preserving Nora's body. How it looked like she was merely asleep, not dead.

Nate settled Shaun as best he could. Shaun gave him a miserable cough in thanks. "I always wondered," Shaun whispered, "If things had gone differently..." he trailed off, turning his head towards his mother.

Nate sighed. "I-" -he took a shaky breath, ignoring the sting of his eyes- "I wonder what it would've been like."

Shaun was silent except for the sound of strained breathing. "What was she like?" he asked, no longer the sixty-year-old but a young boy again.

Nate wiped at his eyes before returning to carding his hand through Shaun's hair. "She- she was an angel. Too good for me. She was smart, and beautiful." He paused. "She loved you more than life itself." He chuckled, a pathetic mockery of humor. "She saw something in me that I could never figure out. I always thought she would realize she could do better than me and leave."

"What changed your mind?"

"You."

Shaun sighed. "I-I wish I knew her."

Nate didn't have a reply for that. He simply listened to Shaun's breathing slow. Finally, he spoke. "I do too."

They sat together in silence, staring at Nora. Nate felt the tears run down his cheeks. What would he even do after this? What was the point anymore? He had spilled so much blood, yet it wouldn't bring back his family. All the trying, and here he was with Shaun slowly slipping through his fingers.

He reaches into the layers of sweaters and shirts he wears to guard against the chill of the Commonwealth, withdrawing a battered holotape. He slides it into his pipboy and microphone feedback fills the cavernous Vault.

Oopsie. Ha ha ha. No, no, no. Little fingers away.

Shaun wriggles in his lap, turning his head to look at him. Nate focuses on the tinny voice emitting from his pipboy. His heart tearing, aching, as he listened to the sound of her. His throat was dry.

He couldn't remember what she looked like alive. How the light hit her eyes. "Is that her?" Shaun whispered.

Nate could only nod, his voice gone and his throat tight.

...But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to...

"Father," Shaun wheezed. Nate's grip slackened as he realized how thin Shaun's voice was. His son was dying.

"Father, I want you- I want you to- to keep them safe. Promise me."

"I'll do my best. You have my word, Shaun," he promised.

Shaun's head turned to the side, his breathing getting slower. And Slower. And slower. "I love you, Shaun," Nate whispered.

Shaun's breathing stopped, and his son went limp in his hands. Nate felt his heart rend itself in two. He tried to suck in air; his lungs not working. He felt like he was drowning, choking on his own tears.

He wasn't sure how long he spent simply sitting, mourning in the ashes of his family. It felt like years, and as he finally stood it felt like decades. He felt as if his limbs were lead. Slowly, reverently, he picked Shaun up. He looked over at Nora's pale, blank face staring through the small window.

"I found him," a voice said, choked with grief. It took him a second to realize it was himself. He had kept his promise to her.

It had seemed like ages ago when he had first crawled out of the Vault, the sole survivor out of dozens. He remembered how hectic it had been, disoriented by the shadow of a world he had once resided in.

How he had promised her. He had promised her he would find their son. That he would find who took him and would make them pay. How could he have known his sweet boy represented the same people who had torn their family apart. It was a cruel irony. Yet through it all, he had kept his promise. God help him, he had kept it.

He walked through the hall, towards the elevator. Shaun seemed to get heavier with every step, or maybe he got weaker. He stepped onto the elevator, hitting the button on his pipboy. The platform jerked, then began it's ascent.

Moonlight broke through as the thick steel plates parted before him. He blinked up at the moon, on the hill where it had all begun. Fitting, to end where he began. Lights shown from below, celebrations within Sanctuary in full swing. He couldn't bring himself to resent their celebration in the midst of his mourning. He was too tired, and anger only kept you afloat for so long before it burnt you out.

He would know best.

He laid Shaun down as gently as he could. He needed a shovel.


	2. Edge of Reason

"There is no peace here, war is never cheap dear." -Richard Been

He sat upon the hill, Sanctuary Settlement sprawling out below him in all its ramshackle glory.

It looked peaceful from up high. 'A new age' as Jun had put it. The boogeyman of the Commonwealth reduced to an absurdly large irradiated pothole. No one fearing being taken in the middle of the night or worse. An age of paranoia and distrust shattered all on his crusade to reclaim his son. He scowled at the reminder of how poorly it had gone.

"You've done good, hon," Nora commented, taking a seat beside him. Her legs swinging in the empty air besides his. "Look at what you've built. How happy they are."

He watched as a few settlers, the size of Vault-Tec bobbleheads at this distance, shuffle towards a long day of tending the Eastern fields. A few of the market stands in the cul-de-sac were already being attended to. The night watch was marching off the palisades, and the morning shift was taking their place. Even the flag, a simple navy blue with a white lightning bolt, adhered to the lazy morning with a few languid curls.

She was right; she always had that annoying tendency to be.

"You know I'm right."

He sighed, trying to keep a smile from his face. "I know," he conceded. It was peaceful now, but there was a long way to go. "Raider outfits are still holding strong near Salem. Mutants got a vice on the South, despite our few footholds. The Brotherhood is antsy about the mortars we've been constructing, and them and the Railroad are going at each other's throats." He shook his head. "It's a damn mess," he spat.

She patted his hand, her skin soft. "You've got your work cut out for you, then."

He sighed, deflating like a balloon. He shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. He hated how broken that fragile voice sounded. He sounded like when he had first defrosted. Weak and pathetic, half crazed in desperation. "I'm- I'm too tired, Nora."

The silence stretched on for a minute or two. Her tracing circles around his knuckles, and him watching as the settlement below slowly woke up. Finally, Nora broke the silence. "I know, sweetie, I know," she crooned. "But people still need you. They" -he saw her hand gesture towards Sanctuary out of the corner of his eye- "still need you."

He frowned. Preston did more than him with the actual day-to-day of the Minutemen. He was pretty sure the Brotherhood was going excommunicate him, with the Railroad right behind them.

"I don't think so," he stated. He carded a hand through his hair. He needed to find another hat. "Even if I stick around. It's just... Just more fighting. More killing." He shivered. "I thought Anchorage was bad, but this?" He gave a morbid chuckle. "This-this is just wading, waist deep, in the absolute worst of people." He scoffed. "Shit, and I fit right in."

"Nothing good comes without cost. They do need you. They need someone who's lived better days, not just read about them." She gripped his hand. He turned his head, giving her a skeptical look. He wouldn't say that they had been better, but certainly a lot safer. He frowned at that, after all, in their day the world ended. He watched her tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, mesmerized by even the simplest of gestures.

"I can only do so much," he said. He gave her hand an answering squeeze, studying her face. Cheeks pinked from the chill, and the wind playing with her hair. She was just as beautiful as when he had first met her. It felt like decades ago, and it was kind of funny because it _was_ decades ago.

"You can do anything you set your mind to, Tiger," she grinned at him, the kind that made lightbulbs dimmer by comparison. He felt himself grinning at the dorky old pet name. The muscles in his cheeks uncomfortable with the unfamiliar expression. He felt like he had just won a million bucks, and his heart stuttered like a dying lawn mower as those peach lips curled upwards just for him. "I know you can do it," she continued.

Guilt killed the butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't look at her smiling at him like he was still a good man; like he was still worth saving. This harsh world had swallowed him up, chewed him, and then shitted out a killer. He turned his head away from her.

"I couldn't bring Shaun back," he muttered. "Couldn't keep my promise to you." He looked over at one of the recently dug graves in Sanctuary's cemetery. He couldn't read the epitaph from here, but it didn't matter. The words were etched in his heart. Shaun Jones, beloved son.

He felt her smile falter more than he saw it.

"But you made sure nothing like that would happen to another family again," she responded finally. "And you did bring him back in the end." She paused. "I don't blame you," she said to him.

He snorted, his voice miserable as he spoke. "Well, that makes one of us."

She sighed, and he pictured her rolling her eyes in accompaniment. He turned his head to see if he could prove his own theory, only just missing it. "You need to learn to forgive yourself, Nathanial Bernard Jones," she admonished.

He sighed, a frown slipping onto his face. "I don't know if I should." Their son was dead. So many people were dead. He looked down, watching his legs dangle from the platform. His fingers played with a hole in his sleeve. For a second, he could've sworn his hands were stained a dark crimson, the blood of raiders, scientists, and anyone else marking him a murderer like how God had marked Cain.

Even with all that blood on his hands, nothing would change. He had failed his family. They weren't coming back to him.

"I'm all alone now."

Nora laughed, shocking him. The high-pitched, full stomached, bubbly kind that made his insides gooey. He scowled at her, lacking any menace in the gesture.

"Thank God," she said between bouts of giggles. "I didn't love you for your brains. You're not alone, hon. The only one keeping you alone is you."

He sighed. She was right, because she always was. Always better at understanding these sorts of things. Give him a car, and he'll fix it, but give him a person and he'll fuck it up and break a good thing. Hell, he was lucky Nora stuck around so long, or else-

Nora. Images of a blue vault suit stained with crimson jumped through his mind's eye. A gun shot went off in his mind, making him jump. Nora's voice, begging and pleading.

It fell on him like a weight.

"I'll still love you if you start a new family."

She was dead. How could he have- She was buried right next to their son. He opened his mouth, gaping at his wife. He had to be dreaming, or maybe he had finally lost his mind completely.

She gave him a sad smile. Yes, that was it. He had finally lost whatever marbles he had left. "So, promise me you won't give up?"

"Nate!" A voice broke through the shock, his head whipping towards the source, his hand dipping towards his revolver.

A trio crested the hill. Piper, Nick, and Ellie marched up the hill. "Who were you talking to there, partner?" Nick asked as they drew close.

Nate blinked, putting a hand to his temple as he turned. He found the ground next to him empty. He shook his head. Maybe it was just the jet, he reasoned, ignoring the fact that he's been sober for a week. Or maybe he just wasn't the first person to have full blown hallucinations of his dead wife. He stood up, his vision exploding into blues and reds for a second and he blinked his vision clear.

He turned his head back towards the three, and he made out two figures behind Nick's shoulders. Nora, in that tight number of a vault suit holding onto the arm of a silver-haired man besides her. He stared, as both gave him small smiles. Nora raised her hand, giving a wave.

"I promise," he breathed.

"Nate?" Hands appeared on his shoulders, Nick on his right and Piper on his left. Both beginning to guide him back to the path towards Sanctuary, Ellie keeping pace with them as she shot him concerned glances. They lead him down the path like he was mentally handicapped.

I probably am, he mused, it's not exactly normal to hear dead people. He chuckled at his own joke. Maybe one too many hits to the head had caught up to him.

"You okay, gumshoe?" Ellie asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant but Nate could see right past it. Ellie wore her heart on her sleeve, despite her best attempts to hide it. Her concern was well placed if he was to speak on the matter. Even he thought he was a little crazy.

"I-I'm fine." He slipped out of Nick and Piper's grips. "I'm fine," he huffed. "What did you guys need me for?" He ignored the sting in his chest at the question. It was an ugly reality, he was always needed, not wanted. _I'll still love you if you start a new family_ , the words repeated in his head. His stomach rolled with the thought.

"Well, when Preston said you didn't follow to the rally point, he sent us to look around for you," Nick replied. He adjusted that stupid hat he always wore and dug around the inside of his coat for something. A cigarette, if Nate was a betting man.

"We figured you'd go home, I guess," Piper added. "I mean-" she shook her head, grinning. "You did it. No more sleepless nights, terrified that your neighbor is plotting against you, no more kidnappings." She looked over at Nate, and he squirmed under her attention. "No more fear. Thanks to you."

"A bonafide hero," Ellie chuckled.

Nate shook his head, staring at his shoes as they walked. "I'm no fuckin' hero. Don't call me that." He was no one's hero. Even if he was, letting his family die made for a real shitty hero. He frowned. Maybe they would be better off if he just disappeared. He'd have to give that more thought.

Nick sighed, plugging a cigarette between artificial teeth. "Took a lotta guts to do what you did." Nick moved on to searching for a lighter. "It couldn't have been easy."

Nate balled his fists, scowling. "That's putting it lightly." He shook his head, trying to muzzle the monster in his head. "So besides checking if I'd kicked the bucket or not, what else did you need?" They crossed the small bridge. Nate's stomach rolled again, the words of his dead wife rolling in his head.

Nick told him.

 **A/N:** **Okay, here's the second chapter. My apologies for it taking as long as it did. This is still just setting the scene. I'll get the third up soon. I'll probably be changing the synopsis soon, and possibly even the title.**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Gromp**


End file.
